Trouble Sleeping?
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: After Moriarty receives the phone call and leaves them at the pool, Sherlock and John make their way home, still fairly shaken up at what could have happened. Set after The Great Game.


_"...I'll make you into shoes."_

The door to the swimming pool slams and the lasers disappear. Sherlock moves before Jim's sing-song voice has finished echoing against the walls. He crouches down to John and frantically clutches either side of his face, looking straight into his eyes, "are you okay, John? It's alright. We're alright now."

John breathes heavily, a small, very fake, smile appearing on his lips, "I'm fine." His heart is still beating too fast and he isn't sure whether his legs will hold him just yet.

Sherlock stares for a moment, before standing and holding a hand out to John, "good."

John takes Sherlock's hand, shifting his weight so Sherlock can hoist him to his feet. He wobbles slightly, but manages to stay upright. Tugging his cardigan back over his shoulder, he speaks, "home?"

"Yes, I'll call Mycroft to dispose of the bombs, but we can leave."

John rolls his shoulders back, standing straighter, "I'd offer to pay for the cab, but they took my wallet when they did the bombs and..." he trails off, waving his hand.

"That's okay, I have enough with me."

Sherlock leads John from the swimming pool, watching him carefully. They climb into the taxi; John sits silently, staring through the window, his hand definitely _not_ shaking, while Sherlock rings Mycroft to explain the situation.

Sherlock pays the driver and unlocks the door to the flat. John trudges up the stairs first, Sherlock close behind after locking the door. When they get to the top of the stairs, John doesn't go into the living room. Instead, he quietly starts for the stairs up to his room, mumbling "bed" almost inaudibly, knowing Sherlock will have heard him.

"John."

He stops on the first stair and turns his head.

Sherlock hesitates, "are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine, Sherlock. Really. You needn't worry." He nods and continues up the stairs. Sherlock watches him disappear into his room, before heading towards his own room, stripping off his coat and jacket on the way.

John steps into his bedroom and closes the door. He leans his back against it, dropping his head forward and shuddering out a breath. He rubs his face and sinks down to the floor, thankful Sherlock wouldn't be able to see him like this. One part of his mind is saying, "get a grip Watson. You're a soldier. You've been through worse." The other part is saying, "you're alive. He's alive. It was a close call, but it's okay now. You're safe."

He lifts his head and sniffs, rubbing the few tears that he would deny ever being there from his eyes. _A good night's sleep, that's what I need. Calm my nerves. I'd kill for a cuppa, but I doubt I'd make it back up here if I went now._

He pushes himself from the floor and drags himself over to his bed. He strips down to a t-shirt and pair of pants and climbs in, facing the door, curling in on himself as much as he can. He pulls the duvet around him and squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to come quickly.

Not surprisingly, sleep refuses to come to him. So he ends up curled in a ball, staring out into the darkness of his room, his mind going at a million miles per hour, thinking about what could have happened_._

Sometime later, John hears faint foot falls on the stairs up to his room. He lifts his head curiously when there's a quiet tap on the door, followed by a Sherlock's rumble of, "John?"

John frowns, "yeah?"

Sherlock cracks the door open and steps inside. He's changed into his pyjamas and blue dressing gown, his hair slightly messy, obviously from his attempts to sleep. He looms over where he assumes John is on the bed and quietly clears his throat.

John smiles softly, "can't sleep?"

He sees Sherlock's curls bounce as he nods his head.

John smirks, "me neither. Is this what it's like for you when you're on a case? My brain just won't stop."

"Something like that." He can hear a faint trace of humour in Sherlock's voice.

John laughs breathily, "so what are you doing up here?"

Sherlock shuffles his feet and looks down.

John blinks slowly when he realises, "you'll feel safer if there's someone near you," not phrasing it as a question, just as fact. _It's worth a shot_, he sighs_. _He moves across to the other side of his bed and lifts the duvet, "get in."

Sherlock hesitates for a moment, before shrugging off his dressing gown and lying down facing John, pulling the duvet up to his neck.

"I'll probably sleep better knowing someone else is here. And the knowledge that if Moriarty tried sneaking in through the window I wouldn't have to deal with him alone again," John smiles, hoping Sherlock would realise it was a joke, and not to expect the consulting criminal falling into the room in the early hours of the morning.

Sherlock is silent for a few minutes, his eyes searching for John's face in the darkness, "are you sure this is okay? Sharing a bed, I mean."

"Right now, there are bigger things on my mind. We could have died at that swimming pool. Or at least, I could have. I wouldn't have let you."

Sherlock's mouth opens and closes like a fish. John smiles, happy he'd managed to stun Sherlock into silence for once, "go to sleep, Sherlock. We both need it," John says, turning over and burrowing back down into his pillows, "goodnight."

Sherlock waits a moment before turning onto his other side, listening to John's steady breathing, eventually drifting off himself.

* * *

The next morning, John wakes up uncomfortably warm. He opens his eyes to a pale neck and brown hair. _What?_ He jumps slightly when he realises at some point in the night he had drifted over to Sherlock, and was currently pressed against the taller man's back, his face nestled in between the pillows and Sherlock's neck and his arm draped over his waist. Sherlock is still snoring lightly, so John tries not to move too much when he pulls himself away. Unfortunately for John, Sherlock is an expert in feigning sleep, "is it true? What you said."

"What? Oh, you're awake?" John breathes as Sherlock turns over to face him. John realises how close Sherlock's face is to his own, and moves backwards a few inches, pulling his arm back. "Of course I did. I wasn't going to let you die because of _him_. I'd give my own life before that happened, Sherlock."

"Why, though? Why did you grab him and tell me to run?"

John shrugs, "just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. At least one of us would get out that way."

Sherlock smiles, seeming to accept it. He decides to change the subject, "so are we going to talk about how when you sleep you-" John cuts him off, knowing he's about to bring up the awkward sleeping position they'd woken up in.

"No. Now get out of my bed. You haven't eaten in days and I need tea."

Sherlock grins and leans over the side of the bed to retrieve his dressing gown. He stands and stretches, draping the dressing gown over his shoulders. As John starts to drag himself out of the bed, Sherlock speaks, "stay there. I'll go."

"You're going to make tea?" Sherlock nods. "In our kitchen?" Nod. "Do you even know where we keep the tea?"

"Of course I do, what do you think I do when you're not here? Mrs Hudson doesn't always bring me tea."

John nods warily and sinks back against the headboard, "well okay, don't let me stop you."

Sherlock returns ten minutes later, carrying a tray with a plate of toast and two mugs of tea. Settling back onto the bed he hands a mug to John and shares the toast between them.

"Why are you doing this? Treating me like I'm ill or something," John says around a mouthful of toast.

"After what you did last night, I feel as though I should. I deduced how stressed you were about the situation when we were in the taxi last night, you need to relax," Sherlock says, but John cuts him off by laughing.

"You don't have to, you know. This is nice, but honestly, this new, caring Sherlock is scaring me a bit," John nudges Sherlock's leg with his foot, "I prefer the Sherlock who blows things up and burns holes in my jumpers."

"In that case, you'll love my newest experiment," Sherlock almost laughs.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, when John suddenly breaks it.

"You know, I would have thought you'd be like an octopus when sharing a bed," John pauses, his ears going pink when he realises what he's said, "not that I've thought about it. Ever. I mean..." He groans and throws himself against his pillow, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Sherlock smirks knowingly and takes sip of his tea.

END


End file.
